


Fierce Odds

by CaptainJacq



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Avengers AU, Fanart, Gladiators, M/M, Post-Iron Man 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 18:04:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1096910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainJacq/pseuds/CaptainJacq
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On Midgard they once called them Gladiators. Here, they were the creatures who befell the curse of the Collectors. But either way, their purpose was to fight and die as bloody as possible. Loki had never cared for the blood sport before, but now, when the man who had wormed his way into the errant God's heart was staring up at Loki from the other side of the arena wall, Loki has never abhored any battle as much as he does this.<br/>On Midgard, Anthony Stark is Iron Man, a hero and frustratingly endearing in all the wrong ways.<br/>On Asgard, he's food.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fierce Odds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AislingSiobhan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AislingSiobhan/gifts).



> MCU Verse AU, where Thor's trip to Jotunheimr went as planned, but Frigga never gave Loki the throne, but instead answered his questions and attempted to soothe his worries. Instead of committing genocide, Loki went adventuring, disappearing off the face of the nine realms for a few years, where he found Tony and together they threw off current movie canon. Avengers never really happened after Loki stole the Tesseract, but that's a whole other story. ;-)

It was his curiosity, his mother had once warned him, which would lead to the destruction of them all. She had been mocking him at the time, teasing an errant child that had near on destroyed the entire nursery in his quest to lay hands on the books on the upmost shelf. He had laid waste to the entire room, toppling the bookshelves and with it the study desks, two chairs and an armoire. But after his terror had been soothed and the room put to rights, Loki had still his hands on the book he’d desired, and the knowledge that had unfurled in his childish mind that night had been enough to set his path in stone. From that night on it had never been Loki’s doing that had seen their nursery in ruins, always Thor, ever Thor with his bright enthusiasm and over abundance of strength, and most importantly, an eager mind that bent so easily to his brother’s whims.

 

Thor had, even to this day, never quite caught on to how easily Loki could provoke him in just the right ways to get exactly what he desired, and where Thor failed there was ever other means.

 

But with this, Loki found himself at odds; awash with half-built terror and an unbridling knowledge that there was really very little he could do to change anything.

 

“They bring such fierce stock this year, brother!” Thor said, eager as an ever-child as the guards dragged the severed corpse of the Dark Elf from the arena. The sand congealed, wet and black as the Dark Elf’s blood smeared behind in its wake. In it’s cage, the bálkvikindi roared, a high-pitched scream that sent a shiver down Loki’s back as it dug it’s talons into the sand, tearing at the woven magical barrier.

 

It had always been his curiosity that put him in danger, first and foremost. He had crossed lines before, in arrogance and pride and even desperation, but his weakness had always been his striving, unquenching thirst for knowledge and the unending pursuit of acquiring it. It had been curiosity that had sent him to Midgard, and it had been curiosity that had found him Anthony Stark. His unbridled, arrogant mortal whose mind was as bright as any of the stars that graced the skies above them, whose tongue was sharp and dry and whose ingenuity seemed to know no bounds.

 

His Anthony Stark, who found himself stripped from his planet without warning and without cause, only to find himself outside his own realm and beset by a fate that almost assured his death was going to be swift and bloody, and still his quips were sharp and clever as ever. His derogatory snides had been refreshing and relieving all at once and achingly familiar and already Loki found himself mourning the man he was to watch perish. For all his worth, his Anthony could not be a match for the bálkvikindi, not before when it was fresh and angry for it’s capture and certainly not now that it had the taste of blood and vengeance.  

Asgard was a warrior race, built on the foundations of war and driven by it. It favoured not knowledge but courage, not creation but destruction, not magic but brute strength. It celebrated bloodshed with feasts and tolerated treaties as they must, just as long as it took between battles once again. It was a well-tuned machine that was fuelled by blood and savagery and every five hundred years as a distraction from their own squabbles and fights, they made other races entertain them with their deaths. The Romans on Midgard had called them Gladiators; Loki called them sheep, each one led to the slaughter for the Asgardian’s entertainment.

 

And his Anthony, bright, brilliant Anthony Stark was being forced out of the gate and into the arena.

 

Under the sunlight his armour shone a brilliant beacon against the bloodstained sand. He wore the armour Loki had pressed through the bars of his quarters the night before, resplendent in his home colours of red and gold. The sunlight glinted against the metal and the wind swept at his brown curls and yet ever it was his eyes, brown and warm, but piercingly intelligent and calculating that drew Loki’s gaze. There was a soft curled smile on Anthony’s lips, an acceptance in his gaze that Loki recognised. There were no harsh accusations here, just the calm arrogance that he had accepted the situation and was set to fight against it.

 

Loki had known Anthony Stark for but a moment, a shadow of a minute in his own lifetime that had translated into a handful of years on Midgard. Stark had never known Loki to be anything but Lucas Olson, a curious but brilliant man shrouded in secrets and his own pursuit for knowledge. Loki had desired nothing but to explore Midgard in it’s entirety, to fill the gaps of his own boredom and avoiding Thor. Midgard had been a distraction, a curious distraction, yes; how quickly they had changed over the years, how much they had grown since last he had been there, flitting between the shadows. And at the core of it all was Anthony Stark, with his expo, his enormous brilliant celebration of knowledge and innovation. It had stolen Midgard’s limelight immediately. All of Loki’s curiosity had focussed on the one man with his brilliant eyes and smirking mouth, the glowing circle of light in his chest and the cross hatching darkness of poisoned veins running up his neck.

 

Loki had been fascinated by people before, by creatures all across the nine realms, but it had been long since anything had truly piqued his interest as much as Anthony Stark had. But oh how he had. It hadn’t taken much to step into Anthony’s world; the man enjoyed novelty has much as Thor and a carefully placed word saw Loki stepping into Anthony’s realm of acknowledgement. It was well timed, with the quickly unfurling drama surrounding Justin Hammer and Ivan Vanko burning down around them and SHIELD’s imperial entrance into Stark’s life. But Loki was not the God of Mischief and lies for nothing and he had seen the woven paths and watched as they had unravelled around them with glee.

And out of the ashes there was Iron Man, stronger than ever, and a curiously still-vulnerable Tony Stark, bending under the shadow of SHIELD and it’s inexplicable implications on his life. While at the core of it all, Lucas Olsen, prim in tailored three-piece suits and skinny ties in brilliant green ran his expo, liaising with one Pepper Potts and with it, inevitably, there was Anthony, drawn back to his legacy in lights and science and evolution.

 

The rest Loki had not expected, he had not expected to care, and that, perhaps, was the true tragedy of this whole expedition. He had not expected Anthony Stark and with it, he had not expected how much it had hurt to leave the man after their paths had finally lead back to the Tesseract. With SHEILD leeching Anthony’s time and resources Loki had traced the paths back to their source and found the missing Infinity Gem and afterwards there had been nothing else left to do. He could not in good conscience leave the mortals with something so dangerous and so he had taken it from them and returned to Asgard, leaving Midgard and Anthony Stark behind.

 

Until now.

 

Until not three days past when the Collectors had brought before the Arena their fighters and Loki had fought harder than he had in his life to keep his composure. He had struggled against the sudden terror he had felt as he’d caught sight of a familiar profile amongst the future carnage. He had seen Anthony Stark and the world had come to a stop.

 

Thor had once berated him for his uncaring heart, the solemn way he spoke and how he lacked passion for naught but tricks at others expense. He had raged that his brother seemed uncaring, when the truth had always been he cared too much. It had been their mother who had taught Loki to school his features, to keep his expression straight and not give the wolves of court and public alike something by which to hang him with. He had learned early that he was not the favoured Prince, his interests were not the interests of Asgard, nor would they be. His Seidr was the work of women and his fighting style with knives and staves a coward’s way out. But he was fierce none the less and something to be feared in place. He would have the ear of the King for as long as there was still breath in his lungs and he had not Thor’s delight in battle, but he was just as dangerous. They had sat at the same table as children, learned the same sums, heard the same tales, but they were different at heart, and Loki had known that long before he learned of his true heritage, of the secret lurking beneath his veins.

 

Loki Odinson was dangerous, and as he watched Anthony bow to Odin and Frigga, his eyes glued instead to Loki and his lips curled into the barest of smirks as Odin brought his arm up to signal the release of the bálkvikindi

Loki saw that same glint of rebellion there in Anthony’s gaze as he had seen every day for centuries in his own reflection.

 

He saw the fierce refusal to be anything but himself, and on Midgard Anthony Stark was a king in all but name. He had fought enemies in his heart and his head and at every turn. He had been betrayed and made stronger, found his way out of a cave in he desert with a glowing circle in his chest and an idea - and with that idea he had changed the world.

 

Loki had seen much of Tony Stark in their years together, and he was not above his own shame and relief as he realised the truth in what was about to unfurl before them. He had heard Anthony’s rebuke the night before, the snark a sharp reminder of what they had once had and he had not seen what lay before him then. Anthony Stark reborn, yet again. His arc reactor had been missing and there had been a word on his lips; Extremis, he’d said. I’ve been tinkering and I’ve got it, Princess. Save your kisses, Olson, or Odinson or whatever it is. Keep them til after.

 

And as Anthony shot another glance at Loki over his shoulder as the bálkvikindi shrieked once again and tore towards the red and gold clad Midgardian, Loki turned to his brother with a smile that lit his heart on fire.

“Care to make a wager, brother?”

 

 

 

 

(FYI - Tony totally kicked ass and Loki is gonna pay for not believing that to begin with)


End file.
